


Profane

by Begone



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: ...interesting use of hospital gowns, Anal Sex, Body Horror, Dissociation, Gender-Neutral Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Monster sex, Other, WoL is a DRG, dragon-Estinien, post-heavensward pre-stormblood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:02:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22707397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Begone/pseuds/Begone
Summary: There's certain things you shouldn't do after escaping a hospital.Fornicating the Warrior of Light is one of them.
Relationships: Warrior of Light/Estinien Wyrmblood
Comments: 4
Kudos: 60
Collections: Valentine's Fic Exchange 2020





	Profane

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nidvaller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nidvaller/gifts).



> MY GOODNESS I'm so sorry this is actually not as titillating and one would expect "OTL
> 
> However, I have a newfound appreciation of this dragoon.

Silence.

The fire cracked in its pit, the wind outside picked up enough to howl.

And Estinien could feel his skin crawl. 

The Warrior of Light was not much for conversation. Never was, never will be. It was both a relief and curse to Estinien; that selfsame silence a departure from garrulous nobles but a sin when it meant his own thoughts could echo in his mind. 

He wished for a well-timed, witty remark that would pull him out of his own shadow. The expectation was killing him, a tiny hope buried within a nest of knives. The Warrior never failed to deliver, in word and in steel. It eventually kindled some form of respect, begrudging at first, in Estinien’s mind. 

Who else, when met with the chieftain of moogles, would simply remark “kupo”?

The memory made Estinien’s lip twitch upwards, unbidden and unwanted. 

They went to annoyance to his greatest confidant, the both of them weapons honed for different masters. Kindred spirit, fated rival, unrequited lover. A frustrating person who raised more questions than answers, silent as the grave, every emote uniquely sedate, as if it needed permission to appear. 

In the firelight, the Warrior merely gazed at him, neutral expression with that slight smile. Disconcerting to most, a comfort to Estinien. There was no judgement to feed the runaway wildfire his mind had always been. But yet, his mind searched. A raw wound received his twenty second summer, festering and refusing to heal in his mind. And that was why he hated silence, hated inaction.

To exhaust himself to the point his mind ceased function, alcohol a liability and ignoring himself impossible. Stay one step ahead of his demons, a careful dance with devils who want nothing but to step on his feet. 

He suspects the Warrior of Light dances to the same tune. 

\--

He does not think about what he _is_ , only what he _was_. 

Everything felt wrong from the first moment he woke. A crawling sense of unreality, muscles trembling under his skin, out of his control. It wasn’t right, wasn’t _him_ , the foreign sensation biting deeper than frostbite, yet his true self was inches above his skin. The beast awoke like a content predator, muscles seizing from the lightest touch, unwilling to obey a new master.

Estinien’s new body felt like an animal in its own right. The scales grew in as the smell of chigureons seeped into his skin. Claws sharpened as humanoid hands tried to restrain. Horns, like broken halos, curled from his skull as he declared he was beholden to no one, they couldn’t and _wouldn’t_ keep him here. A cornered animal screamed and made do. He hurled himself from a window, into the freedom of sky man and monster craved-

_and_

_fell_

-until dark wings spread and halted the free fall. 

\--

A finger pressed into their lips as the other hand gently laid on his hip, as if there was anyone else in this cave. Massaging the province between human skin and reptile leather, thumb dipping towards his groin. The sensation was a tickling crawl in his belly, fierce and _welcome_ as Estinien inhaled through his teeth and locked the muscles of his legs.

And they brushed, gentle and sweet, against what remained of his pale skin, heat pooling between Estinien’s legs, need yawning bestial as it swelled. He leaned into the touch, growling, starved for so long of anything intimate and soft, still too scared to move his limbs.

A hand far too calloused covered his own. Intertwined the fingers as the gap between them closed. It’s surreal to register their forehead hitting Estinien’s, to use their even breathing to keep time to his frantic ones. 

The human doubt that he is _unwell_ is in the back of his mind, shoved deep into recesses carved by necessity. He _shouldn’t_ be doing this, rationality ventures, naked and pale. He _should_ be doing this- _should have_ been doing this, the wilder majority roared, clad in blackened scale spattered red with blood. Every stroke against scale makes a part of his mind shut down, yanks him another millimeter into the foggy depths of his mind. It’s easy to stay there, hazy-eyed and waiting for this to end, for claws be hands, fangs be teeth, scales be skin.

Touch is just a far away feeling, easily ignored-

“Can I kiss you?”

Such human desire pulls him back to the surface of reality. His instant agreement sounds like he is deep underwater, but he will decompress.

Eventually.

—

The Warrior of Light is slow and deliberate, and if Estinien is so bold, furtive at times. They refuse drinks, only to fill their mug with a water crystal under the table. He does not ask, but he has an inkling. And so much like him, even if Estinien now wears his own trauma on his body, a testament to his hubris in the face of success. He tripped, fell, and now wears the skin of his _greatest foe_ , the one who scarred him mentally and now bodily. 

Two hands grip the sides of Estinien’s face, thumbs resting on his cheeks, pulling at scale and fingernails rasping at his horns- scalp. It pulls him from his thoughts and lets him focus. 

Impassive, studious, the Warrior of Light gazes into his eyes, a hint of mirth sparking once Estinien meets their gaze. 

Chaste, delicate lips press to Estinien’s own, shallow and quick, no time to react. 

They pull away, hands slide down, a smile graces lips. 

Once the stunned silence wears off Estinien’s mind, his own motions are paradoxical to the Warrior’s care. He _wants_ for the first time in months.

Clawed hands grip below the ear. His lips meet theirs. He throws them forwards onto the ground. Hands curl around wrists. He straddles. Teeth click together. Deep. Wanted. Allowed. Claws bite into their scalp. Wings scrape the ceiling to find purchase. Tail scrapes rock. Teeth meet lip. He tastes _blood_. 

And in that moment it ends as quickly as it began, Estinien withdrawing like the aftermath of a tsunami.

Blood is familiar and alien on his tongue, horror and contentment at odds. He sits on his haunches and stares blankly at the friend he sent to the floor. He touches fangs, smooth and wet.

Somewhere in the distance, his hand falls to his side.

\--

Learning to Jump is exhilarating. A matrix of magic and manpower, the adrenaline of freefall mixed with the second-long fatigue in his legs. Everything is a thousand times more intense in the air, where no man is meant to stay. All there is to experience is rush, and anger if his prey is within sight. Stealing wings as a metal-clad parasite, every drop in altitude accompanied by a step closer to his host’s death. 

Learning to fly is exhilarating. To finally join his father in the skies, to have wind at his beck and call. On his wings, in the sky, where trees were but specks and he could brush the snow off mountaintops. To join the chorus his siblings made as the wind whistles between their feathers and flesh, carefree and basking in the green naivety of youth. His brother, circling above-

“Estinien.”

His name rips him from a memory _not his own_. 

They are slow to rise and Estinien watches, half awake with the remnants of the wind wrapped around him, the pleasant buzz of freefall. There is a smile on their lips, hair tousled and out of place. Slow and deliberate, the same pace he runs in dreams where fire licks at his heels. There is no hesitation as they take a few steps, drop to their knees in front of Estinien, and raise their hands up. And, in turn, he raises his, letting their hands entwine in the air.

His hands are far bigger, blackened talons curling from his nail bed, skin greyed and thickened, completely engulfing the Warrior’s own hand. The sight makes him freeze, eyes locked onto the curl on his fingers, the humanoid fingers poking between ~~his~~ _its_ knuckles. His breath stuttered as he stared, only interrupted by a gentle squeeze, dull and far away, meant for a body no longer his own-

\--

They were in his lap.

Estinien did not mind this sudden turn of events. It felt almost like a dream, to be held like this, arms around his neck, kisses pressed into his cheek, delicate and warm. The breaths skating his cheek drew away, stirring his mind enough for him to _listen_ to a voice but not _hear_ until the second word. 

“-You here?”

Was he?

His memory of the past day’s events was nebulous. It was like everything that encompassed his past: hidden under a thick, obscuring cloud, scattered in his mind. Sometimes he’d find scraps of memories, suggestions of the past, or sometimes he’d step back into the moment and remember everything in crisp detail, spared no expense. For better or worse.

Estinien scrunched his nose and focused on the question. His eyes darted from their face to a point over their shoulder, the silence damning.

“Estinien,” He focuses on their voice, “I _cannot_ take advantage of someone who is not fully aware of what he’s doing.”

Their voice rasps and cracks, telltale signs of disuse presenting as they speak more than a few words. Deep, husky, a 5-carat diamond embedded into miles of stone. It’s blessing and brand, to be the recipient of something so rare, so precious, yet to only receive it for his misdemeanors...

They truly, sincerely, do not know how he’s _longed_ for this moment. And he spends it, shamefully, reliving what is likely half of his life in his mind. The silence drags on and there’s something akin to worry and a hint of fear on the Warrior’s face, creeping glacial with each passing second.

Estinien makes a noise, just to break the uncomfortable silence he had created. Words quickly follow after the figurative dam breaks. 

“If you think,” and if _he_ thinks, “I will pass this up, you’re beyond hope. I’ve wanted you since before Sohm Al.”

And maybe even earlier. Maybe he wanted them since the first time they impressed him. Maybe they were his hand, in the dead quiet of the wilderness, before he passed his title to them. It made him draw a quick breath, lean closer after he spoke.

They sigh as they press into Estinien’s lips, insistent, hungry, his whole focus on their face, their hair, the side of their head as tongue skirts his lips and he is more than welcome to open his mouth. A tongue runs on _fangs_ -

Estinien locks up at the reminder, feeling nausea bubble up, frustratingly, from deep in his core. Everything grinds to a halt as slowly, callously, his body chokes up a laugh. Back to square one, the Warrior of Light pulling away, concern writ on their face.

“Clearly,” They breathe, words only barely audible over the crack of the fire, “You shouldn’t be doing this. Is Nidhogg-?”

“Long dead,” Estinien interrupts, half a lie, Nidhogg’s eyes too terrifying a variable to consider.

The Warrior’s eyes flick down and across, sizing up the changes Estinien’s body had received. Neutral as it may be, it still affected him, made a cold spike of fear lodge into his gut- for what he dared not contemplate.

Silence.

His skin crawls where he is seen.

“It is... rough,” Estinien ventures, on unknown footing, the first time he could vocalize these mental dialogues, “To be reminded of what I am now. _Don’t_ -”

They’re staring, head tilted to the side, as if it’s _not clear_ . As if they hadn’t been touched, hurt, _straddling_ a man mutated, an unwilling chimera of disparate organisms. As if this is somehow okay, passable as a partner.

“-Don’t say I am who I am. You’re a fool, but not a blind one. I have _horns_ ,” Estinien finishes, voice hiccuping for an _inexplicable_ reason.

Silence.

A nod.

Eyes drift south.

“Then I won’t. So, what would you...” The Warrior trails off, fingers picking at the flimsy linen shift Estinien still wore. Useless it may be, but it kept his modesty intact. “... Prefer... to do?”

Wasn’t that an implicit question.

“Take you against a wall, the floor, ride me, _gods_ , any way that ends with you impaled on _my cock_ ,” He sighs words left unspoken yet so obscene to say so soon after his last utterance, making his mind whiplash from one extreme to another. So, this was how he’d finally take the Warrior of Light, in a cold cave-

If his dick was even _human_

-somewhere in the Churning Mists.

There’s a nod and whatever fleeting doubt this is some sort of dream, some sick joke, or a hallucination starts to burn up. A hand presses into Estinien’s chest and he’s more than happy to fall, let his gaze bore into the fire-shadowed rock above. There’s a childish glee filling him as he adjusts, focused on hands trailing down his chest, hips shifting to straddle his legs instead. He barely notices how he moves his shoulders to adjust the position of his wings, tilts his hips to avoid sitting on his tail.

Estinien allows a fool’s smile to grace his lips as foreign fingers curl under his hiked-up smock, raise it further to expose him.

Slowly his smile falters as seconds pass with no further motion, action, word. It drags into what could be a minute and Estinien knows, in the pit of his stomach, _without a doubt_ , what the issue is.

“How would you react if I said I wanted to take you?” Every word from the Warrior’s mouth is measured, diplomatic, the same tone they use to soothe incensed Ishgardian nobles.

He was given confirmation, hidden in between an innocent question, that Nidhogg fully corrupted his manhood, colloquialism included. He shouldn’t have held onto that faint hope. Shouldn’t have laid his hopes that something was untouched by scale and sinew.

Estinien is stubborn, however.

“No, continue. It cannot be that bad-” And immediately a hand grips his length, making his eyes go wide in utter surprise.

The Warrior of Light and Estinien have the same hand span.

A random detail, but relevant for context. Both their lances let their fingers bite into palm.

And the Warrior of Light’s fingers _do not touch_ . They’re curled around something ridged, the stimulation feeling utterly _wrong_ and _backwards_ in his mind, every motion confirmation that there was spines, heft, tapering that did not belong on a _man_. Estinien’s eyes stare unfocused at the ceiling, feeling his body fade away into smoke with every pump of his inhuman cock to remind him of what he couldn’t have.

\--

The incessant snap of fingers is what rouses him, a weight on his chest that his mind supplies could be a hand. The other hand seems to be in front of his face, making blatant motion and sound that he couldn’t help but focus on. Estinien lifts his head and the sound ceases, and gradually the buzz in his ears recedes.

“We can’t do this,” and instantly Estinien growls in response, deep and reptilian, surprising him into halting the noise and making his throat raw in the process.

There’s a soft sigh as Estinien struggles to prop himself on his elbows, needs another moment to find his tongue. “We _are_ doing this,” He’s venom and bitterness, letting rising fury color his words, “I don’t care, one of us is getting _fucked_ , this body be damned.”

“You-”

Estinien was over pity and care.

“No!” Estinien spits and his voice is a roar. He sneers in anger, can feel his skin crack and glow warm, cough embers as his fury brushes something in the back of his mind, can feel the edge of a memory, lurid and profane, but he shuts it down with a reminder where he is, what he wants. He’s focused on the Warrior of Light, he repeats to himself, how they sit, concerned, how their breath rises and falls.

In the face of a silence in both word and action, Estinien only shores up his shoulders, rises from the ground, tears the shift off his body and tosses it to the wayside. “Get some oil,” He bites, slowly narrowing his eyes as they loom over him, “I _know_ you keep it in your bag. I steal it every night.”

 _Somehow_ , it is admitting he habitually uses their oil for less than pure means that garners a scandalized reaction. But, the Warrior complies, keeping their head trained on him until they need to look in their pack. Estinien holds their gaze.

He’s furious at himself.

The Warrior places several dragon hides to the wayside, forcing Estinien to look away as a part of him feels the need to gag. He loathes the reaction.

There is no reason why his body should react like this. He wants it, _wanted_ it. And yet, his _body_ rebels. The feeling cannot be put into words, a mix of fury, exhaustion, resignation. He can try, let his mind endlessly loop trying to find answers, but the clink of glass makes him pause. He’s in the present, about to enjoy the Warrior’s company. And he _will_ enjoy it.

... Now that he thought of it, when was the last time he let someone take him? He was by no means inexperienced- sometimes loneliness hit him hard, his bunk too cold, thoughts too heavy and all-encompassing to stomach tossing and turning withholding tears. Those nights he could be convinced into _anything_ for a shred of companionship and the opportunity to quiet his mind.

His review ends with a bottle being thrown, the same wrist-thick vial he was intimately familiar with. He turns it in his fingers; half full is more than enough. Yet, his gaze moves to the Warrior, who stubbornly refuses to move from his right side, arms crossed.

“I am not sorry,” Estinien keeps his chin high as he uncorks the bottle, rolling the cork between fingers before throwing it over the Warrior’s shoulder. They catch it, after a slight fumble, with one hand.

The look is disappointed, a hurt puppy chastising the mean dragoon who stole his things. Estinien is immune to that look now, slipping his talons-

_Oh_.

A sudden tension rises as they both stare at the wicked claws, point barely skimming the oil. Estinien starts to draw a thin, hissing breath through his teeth, the Warrior leaping to tear the vial from his hand, pull his hand away from view.

The oil is cold on Estinien’s stomach, flinching him out of his eyes starting to haze, make him note the more-than-liberal amount drooling from the Warrior’s first two fingers.

He only gets a hasty apology as those fingers press against his ass, the cold a wet slap to his nerves. The back of their hand apologetically pets his hips as they warm the oil by sliding their fingers against his ass, gently pushing against his hole.

Estinien could get used to the focus that makes the Warrior’s face scrunch up, watching him protectively. It’s calming and heady, especially to see the almost hidden hint of surprise when Estinien grinds into their hand.

Their fingers curl gentle yet firm into him, a whispered request to signal if he’s uncomfortable.

It almost makes Estinien throw his head back and laugh. He _was_ uncomfortable. But not from this. Never from this. A finger enters him and he sighs, causing the Warrior to freeze, shock lancing through their face.

“... You’ve seen me eviscerated by dragons before. You think a finger up my arsehole would make me scream bloody murder?”

The response, thankfully, seems to turn shock to sunshine smile, drawing an earnest chuckle from the Warrior. At least the return of his biting wit convinces them all is well, for they lean in for a quick kiss, oiled-up fingers sliding ridiculously easy into Estinien. And he is more than happy to meet halfway for a quick peck, sigh again when their faces are but inches apart and fingers knuckle deep.

The slow, slick slide is a good prelude, any discomfort quickly fading as their fingers stretch and scissor, curl as he is prepared. With how quickly it turns thrilling, perhaps Estinien misjudged how long ago he was last on his back, perhaps he even _deigned_ to ride one of his subordinates.

‘ _Come here little dragon, let me take you to the stratosphere._ ’

Definitely a good memory to recall at present, eyes half lidded and the Warrior of Light quickening their pace they thrust their fingers into him.

“More,” Estinien’s voice is harsh, needy, a hand he pointedly ignores curling around the Warrior’s neck, pulling them in for another bruising kiss.

They hum into his mouth, withdrawing their fingers on the backstroke, Estinien suddenly missing the presence and pressure within him. In time, though, as he helps the Warrior adjust him, back of his knees resting on the hips, hooded eyes watching as they pour more oil onto their length, watch them spread it and glint erratically from firelight.

Slicked hands grip Estinien by the waist and haul him up, blatantly ignoring the monstrous length he sported. One hand comes off to grab their cock and grind it against Estinien’s ass as he wills himself to relax, close his eyes, and wait.

After a few seconds of teasing, he’s rewarded, curling his hands into gravel and dust as they enter, a few moments of uncomfortable fullness, far thicker than fingers. He’s murmured praises in the form of light breaths and aborted thrusts, the Warrior holding back from hilting in one smooth motion.

“I’m not a delicate civilian,” Estinien breathes into their ear, sighing contentment as another inch sinks into him.

His goad is rewarded with the rest of their length bucking into him, drawing a hiss. And before he could finish taking a breath, they pull back, snapping hips with no delay.

He’s gasping like some common wench, breath staccato and in time to every thrust. The slide is slick and the pressure just right, yet it just misses where he wants it most. Estinien cannot complain, not when it is this pleasant and his wits are still his and his alone. 

Is he even the Warrior’s first? They don’t seem the type to take strangers for the night, yet they have some form of experience in how confidently they push into him, try to stimulate him. Is it usually them on their back, their partner making them gasp like Estinien is, hand on their cock and stroking them when hips fail. 

Or was Ser Haurchefant’s affections returned? Was it the blue-haired man pampering them in bed, or did they reward him for his affections and gifts? Or was Estinien the only Ishgardian allowed this honor? He hoped he was. He played to win, to rise above the others, and it felt good to have their lips on his neck hard enough to leave marks for the morrow, made what little stimulus he garnered that much sweeter when he could later press fingers into bruises and remember when they appeared. 

One thrust makes Estinien choke a moan and have pressure build in his groin as they succeed, rubbing against him in all the right ways. Whining, desperate, he pulls them close for kisses, teeth clicking with each thrust. Up close he can hear the smaller noises, the quiet moans hidden under heaving breaths, the subtle cues of them coming close. 

He’s nowhere near done, his length ignored for previously established reasons, the Warrior’s belly arched over it, even preventing that sparse friction and contact. Estinien only encourages them with gentle murmur and low grunts, gritting his teeth as they slow to a grind and then stop.

They look off to the side, contemplative. Estinien taps their hip with a thigh, only receiving a finger to his lips in response. He pauses for a second, but the finger dodges his bite as the Warrior leans heavily to the side, drawing Estinien’s attention with it.

The edges of their fingers just barely hook around his discarded shift, pulling it into their arms in one quick motion.They shake out any loose rocks and dust, glance at Estinien, and throw it over his stomach.

The confusion had more than a few seconds to set in at this point, and all the Warrior does is hold a finger up to wait. 

A hand wraps the fabric around Estinien’s cock, heavy enough to dull the sensation but still provide stimulation. The final piece of the puzzle settles with an experimental flick of the wrist, the first taste of stimulus on his aching length making Estinien almost shout a curse.

Ever so selfless, they forgo their own pleasure and instead service Estinien, lets the dragoon bask in the attention. Crude and unconventional the method is, but it works, Estinien reacting and squirming, antithesis to the hazy-eyed and slack-limbed man that emerged previously. Estinien didn’t even think it would work so well, but with how thick the fabric is layered, he can barely feel the draconic aspects of his length.

The noises it draws out of Estinien are embarrassing, to say the least. Within a minute he’s done with writhing and twitching, warbling like this is the first time he touched himself. He has a fire in his eyes that brings a grin to the Warrior’s face, makes them tighten their fist around him, grunt as the dragoon clenches and bucks his hips.

It is Estinien who sets the pace now, propped on his elbows, making them pant as he slams onto their hips, the sound of flesh masking the excited twitching of his tail. One good deed deserves another, doesn’t it, and for the price of his own enjoyment curling heady and needy in his gut, Estinien puts his body’s martial strength into glorious misuse.

If the Warrior was close before they enacted their ludicrous (and enjoyable) plan, they were well on their way again, Estinien catching up with gusto. One hand on his hip, another on the fabric, Estinien could feel nails wormed between parts of his skin, holding onto his bucking hips for dear life. One motion and they could slip out, with how ferocious Estinien was, head bowed and eyes locked watching the slide of their cock into him.

Estinien is only focused on their reaction, unwilling to look further. Their brow furrows delicately, teeth set and lips parted, a perfect picture he wished he could etch into his mind. It’s harder and harder to focus as the sweet friction on his cock pairs too well with the roll of his hips, the stretch, the tiny noises he can hear over the sound of his thighs.

They come as Estinien draws back, taking a sharp breath as their body subtly tenses. He’s gentle for the next few moments, pace light and rolling, locking eyes with the Warrior’s half-lidded stare. Even basking in their contentment, the Warrior of Light doesn’t forget his duties. After only a second of pause, their hand moves again, pulling out only to replace their cock with fingers.

Estinien is not at all unhappy to not only have a (clothed) hand on his cock, but fingers that curl just under his prostate, rubbing gently. His legs tremble involuntarily as he arches back, keens and spits cursing praises.

Estinien comes when those fingers bend a little further into him, clench on them hard enough that he hopes they break, if only to see how the Warrior explains himself. But such thoughts are beneath him now, only experiencing his warbling sigh as slowly, his body relaxes, a twin knot in his back disappearing, weight seeming to turn to smoke somewhere on him.

It feels blissful, a return to normalcy, a slow fade to black he cannot stop.

And is unfortunately ruined when something bright has the audacity to pierce his brain through his eyelids.

Estinien jerks up, covering his eyes with a caveman’s feral grunt, seven flavors of displeased and three of fury. Awareness is slow, but he feels rested, despite the pain that so suddenly alerted him. Somewhere, a familiar voice sounded pleased, and Estinien could smell _food_.

He was _starving_.

Eyes screwed shut, for the light was still far too eye-watering for him, Estinien grunted louder.

A few seconds later, a hand takes one of his own, pressing a cup into it. His fingers are still sleep-numb (he fell asleep? when?), unable to curl, but they’re slipped between the handle.

Cocoa.

Estinien simply chugs it in one go, finally able to open his eyes a fraction. It smarts, hurts, but they adjust.

“Well hello,” He greets the Warrior of Light’s penis, almost at eye level, “Fancy seeing you here.”

The Warrior of Light laughs and falls flat on their ass, right next to Estinien. Something flits on their face, words being carefully chosen, “You changed.”

Estinien furrows his brow, placing the cup by his side, immediately inspecting his arms. Nothing seems out of the ordinary other than the fact he was naked under a scruffy blanket. What was there to change?

Ironically, it is staring at his flaccid cock that makes everything fall into place. His skin, his _body_ , profaned and corrupted. He jumps as a hand settles on his shoulder, the Warrior of Light giving him a silent look of concern. “... I’m fine,” Estinien meant to state, but his voice lits it to a question.

They had _sex._

_While he was a nightmarish beast_.

“So, how long until the bards start singing about this abridged version of the Dragonsong War? I’m sure they’ll greatly embellish the lancework and hand to hand of the hero,” Estinien’s grin splits his face, the snort next to him confirmation that the ribald joke landed.

“I fucked the Nidhogg out of you,” They oh so matter-of-factly repeat, teasing further.

“Aye.”

“We’re going back,” They add, tone taking a touch more serious, “To make sure.”

The jovial mood flees in an instant, Estinien licks dry lips and swallows. “Aye...”

There’s a grunt and a nod in the corner of his eye. The Warrior of Light rises, still naked as the day he was born, in the morning chill of the Churning Mists, no less, checking on the skillet.

“What will be your next move?” Estinien ventures, after the only noise is the spark of grease and crack of flame.

They turn to him and shrug, about as clueless as he is. “So, will you be in Ishgard for a while?”

This makes them think, rub their chin as the food suddenly becomes some sort of oracle. After a few long seconds of deliberation, Estinien gets a thumbs-up. His soul is soothed.

“Right,” Estinien gets up, kicks his cum-stained shift away, reaching for the meat cooking in the pot, “Thank you for the food.”

He escapes the swat with a thick slice of bacon.


End file.
